


Work In Progress

by allwedidwaskiss



Series: Work In Progress 'Verse [1]
Category: Common Law
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, Major UST, Male Slash, Pre-Slash, handcuff usage (non-sexual)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwedidwaskiss/pseuds/allwedidwaskiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes and Travis get handcuffed together by the Cap after a little incident at the precinct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work In Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the super awesome-amazing asphaltcowgrrl - any mistakes you see are my own, she tried to warn me!
> 
> Disclaimer: USA owns all rights to these characters and everything else. I'm just having fun ;D
> 
> and yes, i did borrow Dr. Sexy from Supernatural purely for my own amusement, haha, and amuse myself i did.

Travis hasn’t had a cigarette in years; he hasn’t even  _wanted_  a cigarette in years.  Once Travis Marks sets his mind to something, he gets it done.  In fact, the only thing that can make him desperately crave for a little hit of nerve-calming nicotine is his partner, Wes. 

Everything that Wes does seems designed to make Travis either want to break his fist off on the blonde’s face or just take out his gun and start making angry, bullet-shaped holes in whatever is close by. And Travis only needs half an excuse to take his gun out on the best of days.

The day had started off all right.  Typical Wednesday at the precinct; the background hum of copiers, ringing phones and the indistinct murmur of conversations between desk mates settled around Travis as he came in only seven minutes late.  Wes was already at his desk, his dark blue suit jacket on the back of his chair, reviewing the report for their latest case before he gave it to the Captain.

“Mornin’,” Wes said, not even looking up from the file on his desk. 

“Hmm,” Travis replied, only stopping at their desk to drop off his leather jacket before heading into the break room to grab a cup of coffee.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Travis’ mug was missing. The light blue mug that his foster mom, Azalea had given him when he graduated from Cop College wasn’t in the cupboard where he’d left it yesterday.  It wasn’t like the mug was irreplaceable or even terribly expensive but Azalea had been one of his favorites and besides that, the mug was awesome. 

Travis checked the cabinets under the sink, the table where the condiments were kept and even the  _freezer_ , just so he could say he had covered all the bases. No mug. No mug anywhere. Inanimate objects don’t just get up and decide to go for a stroll, someone had taken his mug and was currently a) drinking out of it or b) purposefully being a dick. Everyone knew that was  _his_  mug and that he wouldn’t drink out of any other cup in the precinct.

It could be said that he possibly overreacted to the missing cup.

It could be said.

“Who in the fuck took my mug?” he snapped as he exited the break room.  Business as usual continued on around him, only a couple of people whose desks were nearest the door even heard his question.  Detective Gregory was looking at him warily; she tapped her partner, Douglas, on the shoulder and nodded in Travis’ direction. 

Travis ignored them and tried to calm down.  But it was Wednesday. More importantly, it was before noon and he hadn’t had any caffeine yet nor could he until his goddamn mug turned up.

It could also be said that he acted without really thinking it through.

That would also be an understatement.

Calmly and with purpose, he strode into the middle of the room, reached into his holster and took out his gun.  He vaguely heard an “Oh shit,” come from Wes’ direction before he fired a warning shot into the ceiling. That definitely got everyone’s attention.  An entire floor full of cops immediately drew their weapons, half of them ducking for shooting cover before they realized who it was who had fired the shot.

“Now that everyone is paying attention,” Travis said in a deadly calm voice, completely unconcerned with the fourteen or so firearms that were slowly being eased towards the floor that had just been pointed at him.  “Can I ask, who the _fuck_  has my mug?” 

There was nothing but silence, the phones rang unattended and nobody moved.

“Hey,” Travis whipped around towards the sound. Wes had been inching towards Travis immediately after he fired the shot, though his face was full of caution and Travis realized that he still had his gun drawn. He holstered it and caught sight of his mug in Wes hand, the words “what the fuck are  _you_  looking at?” on the side.

“I thought it would be funny?” his partner ventured, looking sheepish.  Travis was instantly in his face.

“Why the fuck would it be funny, Wes? You wanted me to let off a round into the wall or something? That your idea of a good joke?” he hissed, poking his finger into the blonde’s chest.

Wes’ face went from warily amused to royally pissed in about half a second.

“How the hell was I supposed to know you’d shoot the ceiling, you idiot?” He sneered at Travis. “You have the impulse control of a mentally retarded hamster,” he said in his usual condescending manner. 

Travis stared at the man in front of him.  They were so close that a slight lean forward from either of them and they would be joined at the mouth. Standing this close Travis could feel the warmth of Wes’ breath on his cheeks, smell the stupidly expensive cologne he insisted on ordering from France. 

He watched the cool blue eyes that so closely mirrored his own, suddenly struck with the desire to do something crazy, like haul off and punch his partner square in the jaw or move in that last inch. His eye twitched and his left hand clenched impulsively. He was practically vibrating with the desire to put his hands on Wes.

They were still standing a hair’s breadth apart, glaring daggers when the Captain seemed to materialize out of thin air next to them.

“Travis!” he barked and the detective had the decency to look instantly chastised as he jerked away from his partner, taking a step back in the process. 

“Cap-” Wes began only for the Captain to cut him off.

“Both of you in my office,  _now_.”

Wes squared his shoulders and marched into the office while Travis gave one last glare around the room before following after him. As soon as he had the door shut behind him, Wes started trying to spin the situation.

“Accidental misfirings, huh?” he tried but the Captain wasn’t buying any of it.

“Yeah, as if. You boys think I was born yesterday? You wanna tell me why I had to interrupt my morning meditation to attend to you two arguing like five year olds and shooting off guns in my house?” the Captain ground out evenly, looking bored.

“Wes took my mug?” Travis made it a question.

The Captain only sighed and started to rake the sand in the tiny Zen garden his wife had gotten him. “Do I need to call Dr. Ryan for an emergency session, guys? Usually we don’t get around to ‘accidental misfiring’ until the late afternoon,” he asked, nonchalant.

“No, that’s not going to be necessary,” Wes answered immediately, if a bit desperately. Every time the two men got into a disagreement these days instead of threatening disciplinary action the Captain just dropped the shrink bomb.  It wasn’t that Wes  _disliked_  Dr. Ryan. He did like her; it was just that whenever the Captain actually made one of these phone calls, she always wanted to talk about their  _feelings_  or something equally horrible.

Travis grumbled something that could be a negative response to calling the good doctor but he was too preoccupied to actually answer as he was still glaring at Wes.

“Yeah, well. You didn’t really leave me a choice here. Hold on, I’ll get her on speaker phone,” the shorter man said, already dialing his desk phone.

“You got Dr. Ryan’s number memorized?” Travis muttered as it began to ring, “Why not just put her on speed dial?”

“I would if I could work the damned speed dial, you dumb ass,” Sutton shot back. “Now shut up before I send you both home without pay-”

“Hello?” Dr. Ryan’s cheery British voice sounded tinny out of the phone’s speaker. Wes and Travis grimaced while the Captain smiled broadly.

“Morning, Dr. Ryan!” he called, much too loudly as though she wouldn’t be able to hear him unless he shouted. Wes smirked and Travis tried not to respond, making fun of the Captain was something that always brought them together.

“Ah, Captain Mike. To what do I owe this pleasure at… eight twenty in the morning?” she sounded as though she wanted to be impolite but couldn’t manage it, a voice she often employed when the LAPD was involved.

“I’ve got our boys here in my office, it seems that we’ve had a firearm discharge over a missing mug,” Sutton said, sounding disappointed. Wes frowned at him but was ignored.

“Oh,” the doctor sighed. “What have those two bloody-”

“Uh, you’re on speaker phone,” the Captain cut in loudly at the same time that Travis said, “Hey, I saw Austin Powers! I know what that means!” and Wes exclaimed, “Dr. Ryan!”

“Oh!” she sounded embarrassed and let out some nervous laughter.  “Good morning to you as well, gentlemen,” she said pleasantly as though she were trying to back peddle.

“Uh huh, now I know what you say behind our backs, Mary Poppins,” Travis said dryly and Wes snorted in amusement.

“Don’t laugh at my jokes,” Travis snapped at him.

“I can laugh at whatever I feel like laughing at. You’re not the boss of me,” Wes answered childishly as he crossed his arms.

“My, my. It does sounds like we’re having a bit of a rough morning over there,” Dr. Ryan said loudly before a real argument could begin.

“See, I told you! What do you recommend I do? This is the third time this week. You should have seen Monday, they broke another two computers wrestling over… what was it again?”

“Travis left crayons sitting in my cup holder all day!” Wes answered immediately, getting angry all over again at the memory.

“I said I was sorry!” Travis sounded irritated.

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get all the melted wax out of my car!” Wes practically shouted, moving into Travis’ space again in his agitation.

“I didn’t mean to leave them there!” his partner answered just as angrily, meeting his eyes and taking a step forward of his own.

“You shouldn’t have even had them! A grown man with a handful of crayons,” the blonde scoffed.

“I wanted to doodle at lunch,” Travis said defensively, a bit red in the face.

“No, you thought the waitress would think it was cute if you gave her your number in crayon! I saw you!” Wes was really yelling now.

“Well, she called me the next day so I was  _right_!” Travis shouted back.

“All right, gentlemen!” Dr. Ryan shouted out of the phone, startling both of them into silence. “Captain, if you would be so kind as to take me off of speaker phone for a second?” she asked in a completely different tone of voice.

“Of course,” Sutton replied easily as he picked up the receiver and mouthed “Sit,” silently to the detectives.

“Mhmm,” he said, glaring at them as they settled into the two chairs in front of his desk, jostling each other.  “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” now the Captain sounded wary.  Wes sat up straighter in response.

“Yes, well, I suppose. Yes. No. Yes. Well, alright. I’ll call you in a couple of days. Bye, Dr. Ryan,” Sutton gently placed the phone back in its cradle.

“Do we have to go in for a session?” Wes asked petulantly, like a six-year old that had just been told to eat his vegetables.

“No,” the Captain said vaguely. “Both of you come here.” The partners stood in front of the Captain’s desk, fidgeting nervously.

“Place your guns on the desk… Cell phones too,” Sutton said.

“What if someone needs to uh, get in touch with me?” Travis asked, looking embarrassed after he placed his phone on the desk.

“You mean what if one of your conquests decides to make contact?” Wes griped as he reached to hand over his gun.

“Yeah, exactly.” Travis bit out as he unclipped his holster. “Something you wouldn’t know about because you haven’t gotten laid-”

“Oh, you mean that I know what a meaningful emotional connection looks like and haven’t slept with half the force?” Wes growled as he dropped his phone on the desk and turned to return Travis’ glare.

Their latest staring contest was interrupted by the click of handcuffs being clapped onto one of their wrists each.

“What the hell, Cap?” Travis practically shouted, Wes mirrored his concern with a “No, good God in heaven, please no.”

“Dr. Ryan has suggested, in a stroke of brilliance I might add, that you two spend a day or two-”

“Two?!” both men shouted at the same time.

Sutton cleared his throat pointedly before continuing, fixing Travis and Wes with a stern look.

“Yes,  _two_ , if necessary,” he said absently as he picked up his cell and tapped away for a minute.  The partners were struck speechless and waited in uncharacteristic silence for him to continue.

“As I was saying,” he began again after setting his phone down, “Dr. Ryan has suggested that you spend a day or two in close proximity and work out whatever has climbed up your asses before you return to work. So, get outta here. Go see a buddy cop movie or something. I’ll see you Friday.”

Travis just smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“And before you even think about it, I just texted the entire department that no one, under any circumstances, is to uncuff you or they’ll have to deal with me,” the Cap finished, looking rather smug at the fallen looks on both of the detective’s faces.

“You crazy kids have fun,” he smiled, not unkindly, and nodded towards the door.

Travis and Wes exited the office amid snickers and blatant staring as they awkwardly maneuvered to their desk to collect their jackets, keys and wallets.

“Nobody say a damn  _word_ ,” Travis growled in warning. “I’ll have my gun back on Friday.”

They were followed out the door by soft laughter and hushed comments but none of the words made it to their ears.

 

******

“Well, this is just great. I was supposed to meet up with that waitress tonight and Cap has my phone and I’ve got 175 pounds of uptight dumb ass attached to my wrist,” Travis mumbled as they wove in and out of traffic in Wes’ new car.

He twisted around and put his feet up on the dash, tugging impatiently on Wes’ right wrist.

“Travis,” Wes said in a warning voice, the first time he had spoken since they’d left the precinct, “Get your fucking feet off of my dashboard or so help me God.”

Travis made a face but removed his feet, albeit sullenly. “Yes, mother,” he quipped.

“And stop jerking my arm around unless you want to end up wrapped around another car,” a beat of silence. “And I  _will_ make you pay for the damages,” Wes added huffily to which the other man only rolled his eyes.

“Where are we going? I’m hungry,” Travis whined, dragging the words out while staring fixedly out of the window.

“We’re going back to mine. There’s no way we’re traipsing around LA handcuffed together. People will think we’re into some really kinky, weird sex stuff or something,” Wes said, trying not to laugh despite himself.

“Hmm, that might be kind of fun though,” Travis said smirking, turning to smile at Wes for the first time that day.

Wes’ eyebrows rose so high they threatened to lift right off of his face.

“Which… uh, which part?” he asked gruffly.

“The kinky sex part, obviously,” Travis joked.                                                                                            

If he saw how hard Wes blushed at the joke or heard how hollow his laughter sounded afterwards, he didn’t let on to that fact.

“By the way, there’s no way I weigh 175,” Wes said, pretending to be hurt.

“Of course not, Princess. Not with all the salad you eat, anyway.” Travis was doing his happy smile now, the one he made when he was genuinely amused. It made his nose wrinkle in an adorable way and his eyes seemed to sparkle.  Wes found himself with a stupid grin on his face despite their situation.

“That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you,” he answered and was rewarded when the other man grinned at him good-naturedly, eyes bright.

“Well, I hope there’s steak or something. A salad won’t do to fuel this fine-tuned machine you see here,” Travis said, gesturing up and down his body.

Wes only blushed and desperately tried to hide it as he grunted in assent while changing lanes.

 

******

“Let’s see,” Wes mumbled as he fumbled around in the nightstand for the room service menu.  Moving around with Travis attached to his wrist so closely had been proving to be a problem. 

Getting in the car had been like something out of a Three Stooges skit, Travis had to awkwardly climb in through the driver’s side first and Wes had to somewhat contort himself to follow through with his partner’s fumbling activities.  His face was burning the whole time because he knew the whole precinct was watching from the windows, laughing and placing bets.

Getting out of the car had proven to be an even more challenging feat even without an audience. Neither of the detectives were quite as flexible as they remembered being when they were twenty, though they did finally manage to make it work with Wes bending himself into a sort of sideways ‘U’ shape and shimmying slowly while Travis followed, trying to get his gangly limbs to perform in an organized, controlled manner.

Their wrists were already starting to chafe from the effort of keeping two men past six-foot in such close quarters and Travis wasn’t helping as he tried to turn around to see the television while Wes was facing in the other direction trying to find the menu.

“Travis!” Wes said in exasperation. “You’ve got to stay  _close_. You’re going to pull my arm off!”

“Well, how do you think  _I_  feel? I can’t even see the TV over here, man,” Travis complained though he didn’t sound particularly upset. He made no move to complain when Wes awkwardly clambered on the bed forcing Travis to move with him. 

They managed to find a position lying next to each other with their backs propped up against the pillows, quite close due to the cuffs, hands touching with their fingers unnaturally still, where neither of them was too discomforted.

Travis tuned into the television program, Dr. Sexy MD or some other nonsensical doctor show and Wes was allowed a minute to think in quiet.

Usually when he was in such close proximity to his partner it was in a life or death situation or where they needed to stay hidden in order to tail a perp. Then, there was always adrenaline or something more pressing to distract Wes from the vibrant energy that Travis seemed to put off. 

Lying on the bed, less than ten inches from the other man, Wes remembered why he was always glad for the distraction of work including threats of imminent dismemberment and/or flying bullets.

Travis was smelled intoxicating, like cedar wood, smoke and clean sweat, though Wes knew he hadn’t smoked a cigarette in at least seven or eight years. All in all, Travis smelled  _good_  and sometimes when he thought no one else was looking or Travis wouldn’t notice, Wes tried to catch an extra whiff off his jacket or shirt.

There was that one time they had been squeezed in together in a stuffy closet in the basement of some derelict, abandoned crack house, waiting on a smuggler whose status was teetering towards domestic terrorist, that Wes had actually gotten to breathe Travis in for a whole thirty minutes. 

Though the house had been decrepit and Travis complained of the invasive mold smell in agitated whispers the entire time they were there, the only thing that Wes had been able to pick up was the intoxicating scent of Travis in close quarters; he felt as though he had walked into a particularly good-smelling bar, a sense of well-being and safety enveloping him even though they were about to face off with one of the most deranged criminals they had ever come across. If his partner had thought there was anything weird about how heavy Wes had been drawing breath, he never said mentioned it.

Travis was good like that.

Wes was pretty sure that the other man had some inkling about his split with Alex and the  _real_  reason behind it and figured Travis must have just ignored it because as much as he didn’t  _like_  working with Wes (and their problems were, on the surface, so many and almost insurmountable that adding any unnecessary tension would have been suicide to their now-tenuous partnership) he must need it, at least partially, in the same way that Wes did.

Suddenly, the blonde was reliving the night when Alex had asked him to move out, asked for a  _divorce_.

“Wes, I never wanted to be married to a cop,” she began softly. “It’s too much, never knowing if today or tomorrow is the day that a couple of uniforms show up at the front door to tell me you’re never coming home,” she sniffled but tried to soldier on.

“I could learn to… deal with that, as horrible as it sounds. Provided you promised me certain things. But...” she didn’t continue, looking away.

“What?” Wes had said, had hoped that she wasn’t about to say what he thought she was.

“I like Travis, I really do. And more importantly, I trust him to keep you safe; he’s a  _great_  guy, like  _family_ … But, sometimes I get the feeling you… Well, like you love him more than you should… I mean, just because we’re  _married_  and I feel like I’m sharing you with him, you know, emotionally.” She had faltered, stumbled over her words in a way that struck Wes to the core. 

She spoke as if she thought Wes didn’t realize, hadn’t known as soon as Travis had shown up and sat on his desk that day five years ago and said, “My partner is going to get people killed,” those deadly blue eyes completely serious, leaned slightly into his personal space and whispered, “I need your help,” that Wes hadn’t been completely decided before Travis was even done speaking.

Wes had been at a complete loss at Alex’s revelation.

“I- What? That’s… I mean-. You can’t be serious, Alex. I  _love_  you. I married  _you_ ,” he had stammered.

Alex had looked like she was about to cry. “Yeah, okay, Wes. I believe you. But  _why_  did you marry me?” her eyes had been entirely too  ~~hopeful, trusting~~   _scared_.

“You’re everything I wanted!” Wes had gasped desperately, staring at his wife in disbelief that they were even having this conversation, grasping at invisible straws.

“See? Right there.” She stopped, tried to collect herself, “I want a divorce,” she whispered.

“Alex,  _no_. Why? What right there?” Wes had been on the verge of tears himself at this point.

“Past tense,” she had murmured before clearing her throat. “Can you go someplace else tonight? We can talk tomorrow. Please be gone when I get back,” and then she fled the house,  _their_  house, without another word.

After she had ignored all his calls it was no surprise when the divorce papers were served to him in his lonely hotel room by a pimply-faced intern of the law firm he used to work for. He had opened the door in his robe, toothbrush stuck in one corner of his mouth; it still felt surreal in some aspects.

Cut to several months later and Travis shooting his mouth off at the wrong time, insinuating shit he didn’t get and making stupid comments culminating in Wes drawing his firearm on his  _partner_. 

Truthfully, he was still shocked he had done it. But Travis’ comments of “not enough” and “unsatisfactory performance” had cut Wes deep and he had just  _lost_  it, pulled out his gun and pointed it at the only person he was supposed to be able to trust completely and in turn, be trusted completely by. 

He had threatened Travis in a way that changed their entire relationship; before the jibes and jokes hadn’t even touched him. But that night that Alex decided she needed all of Wes or nothing; needed the parts of him that could only belong to Travis in ways that made sense with them being partners, had drawn that distinction. Had said she needed Wes in the ways that  _didn’t_  make sense between him and Travis only being partners, some invisible line had been drawn in the sand that Wes hadn’t even known existed.

Wes had held Travis to those invisible, unspeakable boundaries, without letting his partner know. So when Travis had crossed almost all of them, completely unawares, Wes had snapped and mortally damaged their relationship (both working, which was grounded in reality, and hypothetical, which wasn’t, in the most decided and painful way) almost to the point of no return.

It was something that Wes still held himself accountable for and was still inwardly apologizing to Travis for, almost every day.  The other man’s behavior had grown remarkably more exaggerated in ways that Wes had always disapproved of but was willing to let go because of how he  _felt_  towards Travis, to being excused almost entirely because Wes felt almost impossibly guilty about his mistakes and the secrets and half-truths that had led them to that point.

It was as though Travis understood this and was always pushing Wes to see how far this amnesty extended, like a favorite child testing how far their parents would let them bend and stretch the rules.

Wes was unbelievably grateful to Mike Sutton for not splitting them up but insisting that they go on to couples therapy instead. If not for the Captain’s adamant support, he surely would have lost Alex and then Travis (who probably meant more to him than Alex ever had) and he would have been at a complete loss. Instead their remarkably insightful (or blissfully ignorant) captain had rallied the troops, demanding they stay together under his and Dr. Ryan’s guidance.

Wes sighed audibly in relief at this thought, as he had many times in the past year or so, and jolted back to reality when Travis grabbed his shoulder with his right hand.

“Dude, you in there?” his partner asked, trying to sound annoyed but not really pulling it off.

“Yes? What-?” Wes faltered, completely oblivious to what Travis had been saying.

“I was sayin’ man, if there’s filet mignon, I totally want one and you’re paying,” his partner repeated, eyes still riveted on the television.

“Why would I do that?” he snorted, knowing that Travis was either about to make a joke that would increase their feelings of camaraderie or completely destroy their hour’s worth of peace-keeping with an ill-placed comment that would ruffle Wes’ feathers until he remembered what he owed Travis in debts unpaid, both real and imaginary.

“You owe me,” was all that Travis said enigmatically, or perceptively, enough and Wes silently agreed whole-heartedly. 

“Sure, this  _one_  time, even though it was you shooting off your gun in the station that got us into this mess in the first place,” Wes agreed, trying to sound grudging.

“Dude, you love me,” Travis grinned and nudged Wes with his left shoulder, the hit missing because it wasn’t his dominant side, leaving him almost in Wes’s lap. The blonde let him stay there for a couple of seconds too long before he lent a hand with his left arm, hoisting his partner back upright.

If Travis noticed anything, he didn’t say a word.

Travis was good like that.

****

Travis Marks wasn’t blind, nor was he stupid, as much as he played his “obliviousness” up.  Travis was an expert at reading people. He was well aware of Wes’ failings and his strengths, as well as his partner’s inner turmoil and unspoken… thoughts. Travis had first noticed about a year or so into their partnership, that the other detective sometimes let his eyes linger a second too long on his lips or that he seemed to draw in an extra deep breath when they were in close quarters.

At first Travis had just found it flattering, then slightly disturbing, then he stopped noticing it at all, chalking it up to one of Wes’ many confusing neurosis. Then… then he had started to enjoy it. He never acted on it, never let on that he knew about it, but he secretly delighted in the fact that Wes was sort of courting him, or at least actively lusting after him, all without even realizing it. Travis had grown used to the being an object of attraction and affection at a very young age.

The thing was, with Wes, he wasn’t sure where the attraction stood. Wes never said anything and for the most part, seemed completely oblivious of his actions, so Travis never mentioned it. He never let Wes know that he secretly enjoyed how close his partner stood sometimes and how much he had enjoyed that afternoon hiding in the broom closet with him, feeling Wes practically panting down his neck the whole time. It had taken all of Travis’ willpower not to turn around and kiss the blonde detective.

A week after Wes and Alex had split though, that was the magic moment he had figured it out.  Travis and Alex had always been close; a cop’s partner is like an adopted brother, after all.  And Travis had had plenty of adopted brothers in his adolescence; he knew where his boundaries were, how much to reveal to Alex, which close calls she would be better off without knowing.  He knew how to be an emotional rock, though secondary to the foundation he had built with the individual that really mattered, his partner.

After the papers were served, Travis figured Wes either didn’t know they had to have a talk or was staunchly avoiding the issue in hopes that it would go away. Whichever direction the other detective was leaning in, Travis tried to keep the friendship in as easy waters as he could, continuing teasing and prodding until his comments had brought about an unprecedented emotional snap in Wes, the catalyst to all of their current problems.  Travis’ smart mouth, though exceptionally curtailed since the days of his extraordinarily wild youth, still got him into trouble occasionally.  He never expected Wes to react the way he had though.

When Wes had drawn his gun, Travis hadn’t had the sense to even  _move_. He was in such shock that the blonde detective had even done it, replaying his last words in his head, trying to gauge where he had crossed the line so horribly that his partner was actually actively considering plugging him.

The thing was, Travis hadn’t said anything he wouldn’t have said before the split that had seemed amicable on the surface, which was when the final note of the crescendo  _struck_. “Well, shit.” had been the only thought in his mind as he stared down Wes’ crystalline blue eyes behind the barrel of the gun, Travis hadn’t moved a muscle, was afraid to even draw breath for fear of provoking the man.

He understood that he had crossed about fifteen lines he wasn’t even aware had existed but Wes was standing there, quite literally, threatening him with death if he didn’t shut his mouth. Though Travis was a cocksure, smart-mouthed asshole, he was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t bullet-proof and stayed shock still until Wes seemed to come to his senses, blinking a few dozen times and lowering his weapon with such a tortured look on his face that Travis almost lurched forward.

Then he remembered why they were in this situation and turned to leave without another word, absolutely sick to his stomach. He had desperately wanted to be furious with Wes but then ended up being more furious with himself that he couldn’t even manage that feat in the face of what he knew about their relationship that Wes didn’t even know he was aware of.

Things had been too different after that. There had been witnesses to the one-sided OK Corral stand off, though Travis doubted he would have said anything if it had just been them, which also made his stomach kick with tension and self-flagellation all over again.

He probably would have let Wes get away with shooting him in a non-fatal area and flashed his badge at the hospital to stop them from asking questions if Wes had actually managed to pull the trigger. Travis had always had a skewed and over-inflated sense of loyalty, ask  _any_  of his foster brothers.

What had really eaten away at Travis though, it wasn’t  _just_  loyalty that would have let him keep it to himself or sustain a non-fatal GSW from his partner. He knew he returned Wes’ feelings. Feelings grated at him, he was great with not having them, thank you very much.

It usually wasn’t a problem. He had literally dozens of drop-dead gorgeous women and even a few men throwing themselves at him constantly and he usually just took what he wanted from both sexes and left them with nothing but a practiced smile and an empty promise to call. It wasn’t perfect, Dr. Ryan had gone as far to say it was “emotionally defunct and unhealthy sexual behavior”, but it had been working for him for longer than he cared to remember.

He knew it would be different with Wes, though. If the other detective wasn’t ready to talk about his feelings, he would surely be a bad bet to try and actually be in a relationship with. The other detective was shockingly similar to Travis in that way. Though this thought didn’t bother him, the fact that he actually  _wanted_  to try with Wes, despite the almost staggering list of reasons he shouldn’t, that for once his  _feelings_  were out-weighing the tried and tested emotional walls he had carefully constructed so very long ago.

The thing was, Travis had learned, growing up in the foster system, you took comfort, protection, stability and love, no matter how fucked up they were, where you could get them. You didn’t begrudge the other person for being seriously damaged or for possibly being a self-loathing basket/closet case combo if they were able to open up to you.

Travis wasn’t at all angry at Wes for wanting him, nor did he feel betrayed because Wes didn’t  _want_  to want him; his sense of betrayal and anger stemmed from the fact that Wes hadn’t even thought to address his feelings before they left him frozen like a deer in the headlights on the business end of his Glock.

Turning to surreptitiously watch Wes out of the corner of his eye while the blonde placed their room service order on the phone, he was struck by the thought that this was his chance. As much as he had been willing to respect Wes’ wishes about being entrenched in his denial, Travis figured it was time to take the bull by the horns.

Their partnership had dissolved into constant bickering and distrust on both sides of the fence, eating away at what had made them work in the first place. It was either do something drastic or finally turn in that form for a partner transfer that had been sitting in Travis’ desk since the gun incident. After he acted though, the form might have to get turned in despite the fact that he didn’t really want to go through with it.

Travis knew Wes was essentially pulling his pigtails, the Cap’s kindergarten reference striking home, rather than say anything or even confront his feelings. Admittedly, Travis knew he shouldn’t have shot his gun off in the precinct, but he was prone to incredible acts of spontaneity and this had been no different. Though given what he had just decided, it was actually a blessing that they were stuck in close quarters for another forty-eight hours.

That was a whole lot of time when you were trying to repair your friendship by attempting to seduce your partner, who just happened to be conveniently handcuffed to you.

Travis sincerely hoped he was reading Wes’ reluctance correctly, that his partner didn’t want to overstep whatever boundaries were left between them that hadn’t already been steam-rolled over. He sincerely hoped he was right because Travis had finally decided to cross it, for better or worse.

And when Travis Marks sets his mind to something, he gets it done.

“They said it should be about an hour, since somebody is having a steak,” Wes hung up the phone and turned his attention back to Travis and the television.

“Hmm,” his partner replied.

“Do you have to watch Dr. Sexy? This show is unbelievably bad,” Wes griped, reaching for the TV Guide.

“Dude, it was either this or Law & Order,” Travis started to answer. “And I know how you feel about Law & Order,” he finished as Wes said, “I fucking  _hate_  Law & Order,” at the same time.

Travis only smirked and raised an eyebrow in response as Wes continued to grumble under his breath. “Dr. Sexy it is then,” he finished triumphantly when the other detective failed to make any other suggestions.

“I don’t like this show either though,” Wes continued to whine, “Daytime TV sucks.”

Though he would probably say he was complaining, it sure sounded like whining to Travis, who knew just how to put an end to it and gain himself about ten minutes of silence to enjoy Dr. Sexy in without a running commentary on the acting or storylines, which always happened when he watched the show with his partner.

“Yeah, well, we could rent a porno. But it’s either porn or Dr. Sexy, man.” He said, carefully making his voice as airy and neutral as possible. He had been right. Wes blushed so furiously Travis thought he might pass out for a couple of seconds. When no response was forthcoming, Travis made to pick up the remote, which Wes promptly knocked out of his hand and straight onto the floor in his desperation.

“No!” he squeaked then cleared his throat, continuing in a calmer voice, “Dr. Sexy is fine, I mean. You can explain it to me or something,” he finished, voice cracking.

Travis didn’t say a word about it, only smiled and explained side stories to Wes, who sat in silence only nodding or asking who someone was and why they were fighting or sleeping with another character until their food arrived.

The bellhop didn’t comment on the handcuffs, only raised an eyebrow and pointedly kept his hand out even after Wes had given him a five-dollar tip.

Grumbling, Wes gave him a twenty and slid his thumb and thumb over his lips, turning them in a locking gesture at the end. The bellhop just smiled and bid them a good day, practically skipping in delight over his little tip extortion scheme. Travis rolled his eyes.

They ate while awkwardly perched next to each other on one side of the bed, Wes having some difficulty trying to manage his chicken club sandwich with only his left hand while Travis dragged his right all over the place cutting his steak.

They bickered over who would use their handcuffed appendages, though Travis somehow seemed to get the most use out of their attached limbs. After they were finished Travis felt pleasantly full and sort of lethargic, he slid down on the bed and put his free hand behind his head.

“What’re you doing?” Wes snapped in response to the tugging on his arm.

“I might take a nap, man. I feel really sleepy for some reason,” Travis mumbled, putting their handcuffed hands up by his head so he could turn onto his side, turning to face Wes.

“Oh? Could it have anything to do with the fact that you just consumed about fifteen ounces of steak for breakfast?” Wes asked sarcastically, his voice lightened in amused affection as he looked down at the other man.

Travis smiled with his eyes closed, “And it was gooood,” he laughed as he toed off his shoes; they hit the floor with a pointed pair of thumps. The two men settled in a comfortable silence, the soft sounds of some boring and whiny intern girl giving a voice over with soft rock in the background the only noise in the room.

Travis was just starting to drift off when Wes’ voice brought him back.

“My arm hurts like that,” the other detective said in an awkward voice.

“Then lie down, dude,” Travis said impatiently.

“But I’m not tired,” Wes sounded like he was grasping at straws.

“Wes, we were basically handed two days of paid vacation time. Live a little, take a nap,” Travis goaded, opening one eye to squint up at his partner.

Wes slid down the bed in answer, copying Travis’ shoe removal procedure.

“I’m not tired,” he repeated, turning onto his side so that he and Travis were face-to-face, insanely close.

“So meditate or something,” Travis mumbled as he closed his eye again.

 

*****

A ridiculously loud car commercial jolted Travis out of dozing. The first thing he noticed, other than some desperate, middle-aged car dealership owner practically screaming about his low prices was that Wes had indeed fallen asleep and was currently clinging to him like some sort of octopus creature.

Travis smiled and tried to remain as still as possible so he wouldn’t wake him. Wes’ left arm was flung over his hip and the blonde had managed to slip one of his legs between Travis’, his other one settled over their entangled limbs. His face was only about three inches away from Travis’.

Travis was sorely tempted to run his fingers through Wes’ hair but knew that would probably wake the other man up. Thankfully an episode of Dr. Sexy he had already seen had began to play again after the commercial break and he absently listened while cataloguing every detail of Wes’ face in sleep.

The blonde’s eyelashes were almost invisible, much lighter than the hair on his head; they blended into his cheeks, only visible due to the fluttering of Wes’ eyelids. His face was more relaxed in sleep, completely unguarded. He looked peaceful, reminded Travis of a cherub.

Travis flung his free arm over Wes’ side and waited to either fall back asleep or for the other man to wake up. He was rewarded about twenty minutes later, just as he was about to doze off again by the change in Wes’s breathing. Travis stayed very still, only moving his eyes to open them to see his partner come into wakefulness.

Blue eyes stared into even bluer ones as Wes slowly came back to himself.

“Hey,” Wes offered upon seeing him, voice raspy with sleep. He was still languid and relaxed. Travis smiled slowly in answer. And then Wes realized how they were arranged and blushed profusely. “Sorry,” he mumbled and started to move only for Travis to stop him by tightening his arm around the blonde’s waist.

“You don’t have to move,” he offered, still smiling lazily. “S’nice,” he said in a softer voice as the other man blushed even harder.

“You blush a lot,” Travis said in a quiet voice, the same one he used when he tried to calm down hysterical witnesses. Wes didn’t relax though, his body tensing even further against his partner’s.

“I-” the other detective seemed at a loss for words.

“Matter of fact,” Travis continued in the same tone, “One would think that you were blushing in response to  _me_.” He finished his sentence softly.

Wes closed his eyes for a second, as if he needed a moment. Travis saw his chance and took it, before his partner could decide that he was going to move after all. He moved forward and pressed their lips together lightly.

Wes’ eyes flew open, his lashes brushed lightening-quick over Travis’ cheeks, but he didn’t end the kiss. If anything, he seemed to melt into it, closing his eyes after a couple a seconds as their mouths moved together slowly.

When Travis finally pulled back, Wes was no less red in the face and he was looking at him uncertainly, his eyes guarded and wary, “Wha-” he stuttered before his partner cut him off.

“Look man, I know it’s all fucked up. But I should have done that a long time ago instead of being a dumb ass and saying all the shit I did,” Travis said, staring into Wes’ eyes.

Wes just blinked slowly. And then he blinked again.

“Okay, I’m just gonna-” but Wes cut off wherever he was going to go with that by kissing him again. Finally moving his free arm, Wes tightened it around his partner and pulled him in close until they were pressed completely against each other.

Wes sighed against Travis’ mouth, licked tentatively at his lips. Travis opened his mouth for him as he finally indulged his desire to thread his fingers through Wes’ soft hair as their tongues tangled unhurriedly.

Travis had always figured that when Wes finally gave in, it would be quick and dirty; Wes trying to take what he wanted hard and fast, the way you kissed and touched someone you knew you wouldn’t be with again. 

But this kiss was slow and purposeful, Wes explored his mouth completely, his tongue sliding against Travis’ and then slipping away to curl towards the roof of his mouth, moving under his and trying to curl around it. Wes was kissing him like he needed to get every sensation out of the way so he could get used to it for when they did again.

It was Travis’ turn to blush at this thought, no such promises had been made and it was naïve and foolish of him to want them, for him to want these slow, almost longing kisses to mean anything.

He thought he was right when Wes pulled away abruptly. Travis opened his mouth prepared to spout the obligatory, ‘no expectations’ speech he was used to saying.

Instead, Wes blurted out, “I hid your mug because I knew you would figure out it was me and you’d be mad but then you’d forgive me. I like when you forgive me.” He was blushing again and Travis’ mouth stayed open, no words coming out.

But that was fine, as it turned out, because Wes wasn’t done.

“Sometimes when we’re really close I try to breathe you in as much as I can, so when I’m alone everything still smells like you. You are so fucking frustrating, but I’m so glad they didn’t split us up. And I’m so fucking sorry I pulled my gun on you, every  _day_  I’m sorry. I need you to know I’ll never do anything like that again.  _Ever_.” the blonde said this all in a great rush, sharply falling silent.

Travis blinked and Wes said one last thing, voice small and uncertain:

“The real reason Alex left me was because she said I was in love with you,” Wes averted his eyes, seemed like he wished they weren’t handcuffed together so he could possibly sink through the ground.

“Oh,” Travis breathed. He slid his hand down out of Wes’ hair to cradle his jaw. Wes moved into the touch, his eyes so hopeful that Travis kind of wanted to either cry or get the hell out of dodge.

He squashed both of those urges and hoped his eyes weren’t too bright as he sighed effusively.

“I’m sorry too,” he said quietly then snorted softly. “We’ve got some major issues to work through,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too hopeful.

The smile he received from Wes instantly reassured him. He remembered all that they had been through and the fact that neither of them had given up. He knew that he could trust Wes, had known it for a while, despite their outrageous disagreements, firearms non-withstanding.

“I know,” Wes started, squeezing Travis close, “But we can do it. We’re fucking unstoppable,” he joked. Travis laughed, leaning in for another kiss.

They weren’t perfect by a long shot, but they worked.

**_fin._ **


End file.
